


Fight Fire with Fire

by kaboomslang



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Action, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Porn, in that order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaboomslang/pseuds/kaboomslang
Summary: The Empire was mounting yet another assault on Jedha City, and Chirrut was stealing a TIE fighter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because my kink is them being in love and risking their lives for each other. Once again, enormous thanks to [GreyMichaela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela) for being the sweetest beta.

“Where is Chirrut!? The monk, the blind monk, have you seen him?”

A bolt of green light sizzled a foot from his shoulder and a craftparts vendor behind them exploded, sending flying scraps of metal whirring past Baze’s ear, but he barely noticed, his mind was stalled on a single loop of  _ Chirrut, where’s Chirrut, lost him, can’t lose him, he better not, what if he’s _ _ — _

“I think ,” the man started, but his eyes widened, and Baze thought he recognised him, one armed and rangy with a reinforced metal spine, one of the last old kyber miners who sought refuge at the Temple before — “Oh Force be-damned, he’s taking—look!”

Baze whirled around to follow the miner’s shaking finger. Over the sounds of blasters and shouting, screaming, Baze swore he heard his heart drop down into the sand under his feet, taking the rest of his organs with it.

The Empire was mounting yet another assault on Jedha City, and Chirrut was stealing a TIE fighter.

Baze ran.

He couldn’t let this happen.

The battalion of stormtroopers had fanned out from their drop-point in the minutes since the siege had begun, and were focused on pressing forward against the meagre band of Gerrera’s rebels. Between these attacks, which had been happening with more frequency ever since the kyber started to run out, the Empire had stationed stormtroopers everywhere around the city, to quash any civil uprising before it gained traction. The starfighter belonged to one of these local troopers, who seemed to have abandoned it in the middle of the marketplace in the hope of seeing some real combat, a bad move if ever there was one, Baze thought grimly. The buildings around the square were being blown apart, they wouldn’t stand for much longer and if one of them destroyed the small ship and its occupant, Baze would fall to his knees and let the world take him too. Another ground-shaking explosion pummeled its way down his vertebrae, and the blast of air carried the sound of screams moving further away, the blaster shots illuminating the billowing dust like deadly fireworks. It was all happening so fast, one moment the sky was dull and leaden, heavy in the way that signalled an incoming sandstorm. The next, their narrow streets were cast into darkness, the sun blocked out completely.

All of this flashed through Baze’s mind in an instant as he vaulted broken food stalls and chunks of debris, trying to force down the shrieking lump of panic in his throat, but he was gaining ground. The red flash of Chirrut’s hem disappearing inside the cockpit was bright among the destruction, like a rag to a bull Baze pushed harder, willing his legs to ignore their years of use and  _ get him to Chirrut. _

Before the cockpit door could slam shut, Baze hurled himself against the hull and blocked it with the heavy nose of his gun. Chirrut’s head snapped towards him, but only gave the barest hint of recognition before turning back to the controls, his hands fumbling, getting a feel for the panel and trying to buckle the seat harness simultaneously. 

“There are two seats. Get in.”

“Chirrut  _ no!” _

“Yes! We can hit them harder with this, and they won’t realise it’s an enemy until after they’re dead.” His mouth was set in a thin line and fury was sparking in Chirrut’s cloudy eyes, the flames taking hold of the market tents reflecting a storm roiling within him. He turned back to the buttons and switches, his hand ghosting over one Baze could clearly see read EJECT, and Baze groaned.

“What were you going to do, fly the thing and shoot at the same time, was that your plan?”

Chirrut’s hands stilled, and the sharp grin he crooked at Baze was the kind that would have had him half-hard in moments, under better circumstances.

“No," said Chirrut.

Alright, maybe even under most circumstances. Baze would chalk it up to the adrenaline. He was shaking and taut with fear for Chirrut, who in all their years of fighting had never done anything quite  _ this  _ reckless, but was already climbing into the rear-facing seat.

“Well, what if I hadn’t followed you?”

Chirrut actually laughed, and even now, with waves of alternating rage and terror sweeping over him, Baze was hit by how very much he loved him, for being able to face danger in his unique way. “Oh please, there’s more chance of Jedha experiencing a heatwave than that.”

Baze scowled down at the harness. He’d have to lose his blaster. “You would have needed me to pilot anyway — at least I’ve flown before.”

“You flew a freighter. And hurry up, they’re coming back.”

Baze whipped his head around, but he could hear it too, shouting and the droning crash of an AT-AP stalking closer. This was not the time for nerves, so he fumbled with the straps of his cannon and it came loose, clunking to the floor of the fighter. He hadn’t flown anything in a long time and the sweat on his palms was making him feel sick. Still, he was buckled in, he knew the basics, and if he didn’t act now they’d be captured or worse.

“Hold on. And I hope you know what you’re doing, because this is all your idea.”

Chirrut was mumbling something to himself, but said, “I can shoot a lightbow, it can’t be so different. And we’re going to be alright, believe me, it is not our time yet.”

“It’s pretty fucking different, Chirrut! And stop chanting, I’m trying to concentrate.”  _ What was the sequence again, flick ignition, engage thrusters, activate the anti-gravity field _ _ — _ “And so help me if you say one word about the Force right now I’ll kill you myself, if we get out of this.”

Slamming the throttle forward as the first wave of stormtroopers came charging around the corner, Baze yanked the flight stick towards himself as hard as he could, and they were surging into the air. Chirrut was shouting something at him, but Baze could only hear the rush of blood in his ears, G-force pushing his neck down into a painful stoop,  _ what now, oh gods, authorise dual control, let Chirrut blast us out of here to his heart’s content, the crazy bastard, why didn’t I drag him out— _

The air around them erupted into a volley of green light and rocked the fighter, missing them by inches. Baze swore and changed the thruster direction, taking them closer to the temple, where the main fight was still ongoing. The troopers on the ground had obviously noticed none of their number was missing, and their time was limited.

Chirrut coughed behind him and Baze tried to crane his neck around to see him. “Are you alright?”

“Ah—yes, I’m fine, I didn’t know it would be quite so — ” Chirrut choked out a hysterical little laugh, “fast.”

Baze started to laugh as well, the literal and metaphorical high hitting him like a bantha kick. “I can’t believe we’ve stolen an Imperial fighter. Of all your terrible ideas, this is the worst.”

“Now that it’s in motion, I’m willing to concede the point,” said Chirrut, then, “duck!”

Something howled past the solar collector on Baze’s right so fast he missed it, then their ship jolted forwards with a sickening crunch. Baze heard the whipcrack of Chirrut’s viewport before Chirrut swore, which was when he started to panic for real. Chirrut never swore, except during the most intense of orgasms.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Baze muttered. The dark spread of fear icing his veins wasn’t helping his hands grip the steering mechanism, especially since it seemed to be actively fighting him. “It took out one of the engines, try shooting it.”

“It’s coming again, I can feel it,” said Chirrut. “It’s on the other side.”

Baze had managed to recalibrate the thrusters to account for, what felt like, the substantial hit they had taken, but they were listing to one side and dropping altitude. They covered the distance towards the Temple’s ruined minarets in seconds, ducking and weaving through the smoking towers of their once peaceful city. Red stone walls whipped past them like a canyon, and Baze had the sudden and distinct impression of tumbling down a gaping throat, towards death. An Imperial tank commander in a black helmet below them pointed up, shouted something, then swung the turret around to point directly at them.

“Shit, Chirrut, I’m turning but we’re losing height, you have to shoot downwards with the proton torpedo!”

When they had been novices, initiates, Baze had loved to watch Chirrut fight in the dojos. Anything he turned his hand to he was a natural at — defense, attacking, redirecting, even with the guando. His body coiled and shone in the summer sun as he blocked and twisted, slammed his opponents to the floor. Chirrut was built for speed, for violence, for focusing all his energy on a single purpose and letting the Force use his body to execute its will in as few actions as possible. Baze had been lucky enough to feel that focus on himself, on his skin and his pleasure, for years now, and he knew what was going to happen as soon as Chirrut spoke, calm and deadly, “Yes.”

All thought of the phantom assailant pushed down, Baze grinned feral and wild, and hauled them around, facing back the way they had come, and soared.

Chirrut decimated the Imperial forces in seconds. The streets were too narrow for AT-AT walkers but there were at least a dozen AP units, there to intimidate, and not expecting any more resistance than a few rebel blasters. They hit one head on. Baze knew because Chirrut let out a triumphant whoop, and because a crackling fireball was swelling upwards behind them as they swooped in a tight circle, taking down a few enemy starfighters. Just as accurate as with his lightbow, his echo transmitter working alongside his natural senses was enough for Chirrut to judge the battlefield. 

“I take it back,” yelled Baze. “This was one of your better ideas!”

Chirrut barked a laugh. “Don’t jinx it.”

The tank that had spotted them was the last to fall, but fall it did, in a hail of screaming light from Chirrut’s laser cannons. Baze could hardly see through the dense smoke, but their time was up, the TIE was stalling and the flightstick was useless, engine too damaged to keep them in flight. 

He gasped a frantic, “Chirrut —” before they hit the ground and skidded down the Temple steps, the impact knocking his jaw shut with a painful crack. Dry earth kicked up around them and they came to a shuddering halt. They surveyed the chaos they’d wrought in silence and Baze slumped, shaking, back into his seat.

“Hell,” he croaked, “That was —”

“Hell, yes it was. Let’s not do that again. I’m sorry, love.” Baze felt Chirrut’s hand reach backward to touch him, and he sighed, prying the deathgrip from his upper arm to lace their fingers together. Chirrut rubbed his knuckles softly with his thumb and Baze felt his body go numb aside from that small patch, even through his glove his blood still pumped through him for the touch of his idiot, his brave and foolish Chirrut. The air outside was filtering in through the crack in Chirrut’s viewport, and it smelled of acrid smoke and petrochemicals. Vultures circled overhead, alighting and squabbling over fallen civillians and stormtroopers alike. Baze looked away as tears stung his eyes for all they had lost, their temple, once so peaceful and whole.

Chirrut started to say something, but then the world was blasted from beneath their feet, and Baze fell into darkness.

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

As a child, Baze had known no love, not from absent parents, not from peers, and not, technically, from the seniors at the Temple. He was cared for, but not doted upon, given shelter, but not coddled. But for the first time in his life, he had everything he thought he needed, food, warmth, and a purpose. Then he met Chirrut, and learned the true meaning of need.

As a teenager, Baze was defensive and angry, more often than not. He believed in the Force — he had to. It was his saving grace, so said the abbots. Was it not the Force’s will that he came to be a Guardian? If so, it was surely the Force that had orphaned him, and Baze came to believe that every good thing the Force brought him meant it would take something away in turn, for the Force held the entire universe on a balanced scale. He felt it was a reasonable trade, until he fell in love with Chirrut, which was when his faith felt its first tremor. If the Force gave and took in equal measure, the only thing the Force could do, terrible enough to equal the light of Chirrut’s presence in his life, was to take him away again.

As an adult, the Force took Baze’s home, his life and purpose, but selfishly kept Chirrut to itself. Baze discovered that leaving Chirrut of his own volition was just as bad as having him taken, and vowed never again to give the Force the satisfaction, if it was even listening.

 

———————————————————————————————————————

 

He was lying on a pallet and Chirrut was shouting in his ear, choking pain bleeding through the cracks in his voice.

“Baze, Baze please wake up, I’m sorry we ever took the ship, this wouldn’t have happened. I—I can’t lose you again, not like this, not when it’s my fault this time instead of you being a _stubborn ass_ _—_ _”_ and perhaps Baze was having some sort of near death experience, but it seemed to be raining on Jedha, indoors. Fat wet drops were pattering down the side of his face and oh, how good Chirrut felt spread heavy against him and breathing.

“Water,” was all he could manage.

Chirrut heaved another wracking sob and nodded into Baze’s neck. Still he didn’t move though, his lips mouthing something against the underside of Baze’s jaw. His hair was grey with permacrete dust, and Baze pushed gently at his head, ruffling it straight into his already dry throat. Chirrut wiped his running nose on Baze’s shirt and staggered to his feet, off into their tiny kitchen area. They were home, somehow, which meant Chirrut had carried him here? From the temple it was at least a mile. The entire battle was washed out in his mind after a certain point, body and mind running on an autopilot cocktail of adrenaline and survival instinct and muscle memory, buried deep. 

It paled in comparison to this, the here and now where the rays of the setting sun were spearing through their slatted window. Chirrut was alive. Chirrut was safe. Chirrut was—spilling water everywhere, because he couldn’t stop crying.

 

The sun was down completely before he’d sated his thirst, and before Chirrut felt up to doing more than holding his hand and sniffing. 

“You said you’d kill me.” 

Trying hard not to choke on his fourth flask of gritty water, Baze replied, “What?”

“You said if we got through the fight somehow, you’d kill me for being stupid.”

“Well,” Baze said, gruff, “it wasn’t stupid in the end, really. We saved the city, did more than those lackeys of Saw’s. You do have the occasional flash of genius.” He smiled weakly, trying to clear the anguished expression from Chirrut’s face.

But Chirrut was scrubbing his hands over his shorn head with jerky, angry movements, dislodging more dust. “It was stupid, you nearly  _ died  _ because I was aiming too high, yet again, thinking I could be the hero instead of a useless —a  blind — ” His laugh was bitter and all the bacta in the world couldn’t heal the sudden fracture in Baze’s heart at the sound. 

He immediately reached for Chirrut, who came desperately, crowding him down into their threadbare blankets, his knees splayed wide over Baze’s lap and his head to Baze’s chest, caging him in. Baze’s brain finally caught up with him, taking in their situation. A cold breeze brushed against bare skin and he registered they were both naked from the waist down. He spotted a tattered, singed pile of clothes in the corner; his flightsuit, Chirrut’s thick outer robe. Alive, yes, injured, yes, his left leg was bound up tight with bactawrap bandages and his skull felt more tender than the first time Chirrut had cracked him over the head with his staff. There was yet another question.

“Where’s your staff?”

Chirrut waved a hand and let it fall, limp, back to stroke at Baze’s face, “I left it behind before we got into the craft. Your cannon will be gone too, I suppose.”

“What happened? All I remember is holding your hand, then waking up.”

“I’d dragged you from the fighter, but that ship from before, the one that hit us, it came back.” Chirrut was heavy and listless, and his earlier outburst was gnawing at Baze’s guts like a malicious rat.

“Chirrut.”

Some people liked to gaze at the stars for comfort, or into a roaring fire, but Baze never felt better, more at peace with himself than when he was looking at Chirrut. He had lain awake, plagued by insomnia intermittently for years, and gazed at Chirrut’s face, mashed against his bicep, his chest, his inner thigh. Sometimes he would drool and talk in his sleep, and Baze could hardly breathe for loving him. In their youth the other initiates at the Temple had teased them relentlessly, before they were together and especially once they came to their senses. 

“He’s like a bantha calf,” a Lurmen girl had said to Chirrut once, biting her lip with contained laughter as Baze had glared at her. “The way he moons after you.”

“Does he?” Chirrut had sounded delighted. “Well I doubt bantha calves are as handsome as Baze, but that sounds flattering to me,” and Baze’s skin had felt hot with self consciousness, but he still couldn’t bear to tear his eyes from Chirrut’s smile. 

Now Chirrut gazed back, with his sightless eyes bloodshot and rimmed red, the filmy blue of his irises standing out against his blotchy face and Baze needed him to know.

“Chirrut, you’re not useless, and even if you were it wouldn’t be because you’re blind. You’re the least useless person I’ve ever known.” He laughed, incredulous. “Look at all you’ve done, all the people you’ve proven wrong.”

Chirrut’s fingertips were cool against his lips, so Baze took them in both of his hands, breathed the warmth back in. He kissed Chirrut’s split knuckles, remembered how they’d punched him once in anger, countless times in training, and spoke into the hushed gloom. “I need you more than I can bear sometimes. Maybe it’s selfish, but you’re not useless, you can’t be because —if you don’t love me as much as I love you, it makes me useless too.”

A heartbeat, and Baze squeezed his eyes shut.

“The whole universe, and I found you,” Chirrut breathed. The amber glow of their only lamp was casting crystal fractals in his eyes, and Baze noticed with a heartwrenching pang that there was a wetness there again.

“Chirrut?”

Chirrut made a weak gurgling noise which might have been a chuckle, and a fresh tear spilled over. Baze felt like punching something, but Chirrut was smiling, so he only leaned forward to press his forehead to Chirrut’s damp cheek. Sometimes he felt so leaden in the face of Chirrut’s relentless positivity, so like a dark and brooding anchor, that when Chirrut was upset or angry instead it knocked him off course, into uncharted waters. Who was he, an ex-believer, to restore that smile? Cut adrift, all he could do was cling to Chirrut and hope they’d stay afloat. “Thank you, my love,” and Chirrut sounded reverent. “I’m just… sometimes, when we’re like this together, it’s the only thing I can feel.”

“What is?”

“How much I love you. How much you love me. It surrounds me and I can’t hear — can’t feel anything but us. Remember when we met?” Chirrut scratched softly through the hair at the base of Baze’s pounding skull and was pressing his hips forward in slow, juddering movements. He didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it, and Baze let his hands span the width of Chirrut’s lower back. Felt the sinuous flex of his waist, a hot, thrumming suggestion that poured heat down between his legs. They were alive another day, together. With sudden, burning clarity he knew what he needed, what they needed to do, to breathe each other’s air and feel the scorch of life pulsing through them.

He blinked, and thought, but didn’t need to think hard even through the thick weight of lust settling over his brain. Their first meeting had been eventful, to say the least.

“Yes. You punched me in the face.”

Chirrut hummed. “I did. You deserved it.” He brushed his nose over a faded mark high on Baze’s right eye socket. He’d been aiming for Baze’s nose, but he’d never forgotten the spot. Never let Baze forget it either, if he could help it.

“I did,” Baze echoed his words. “Though how was I supposed to know you understood South Jedhan?” It was an old squabble, one Chirrut brought up when he was feeling smug, which was often, but Baze was relieved at being able to distract Chirrut from his guilt.

Baze slipped a gentle finger down between Chirrut’s legs, bypassing his entrance completely and pressing to the firm, smooth place behind his balls. Chirrut’s mouth fell open and his breath hitched around a tiny wounded sound, but he continued.

“Who would have thought — ah — that I’d be as mad for you now as I was then?”

“You weren’t mad for me, you were mad  _ at _ me,” Baze laughed.

Chirrut cocked his head and smiled wider at the sound. “For the first few minutes, maybe. But then your apology was so  _ sincere _ . How could I be anything but charmed?”

Baze ducked his head to lick a slow stripe from Chirrut’s collarbone to his chin, and kissed him there, wet below his mouth. Chirrut moaned low at the scratch of hair on his throat, his hands kneading hard where they were splayed on Baze’s shoulders. “You had very low standards, my love.”

“On the contrary. How dare you, that’s my husband you’re insulting.”

It was ridiculous after so many years, but Baze’s insides still turned molten at that phrase, “Your husband. Only yours,” he murmured, mouthing at Chirrut’s adam’s apple.

“Only mine,” Chirrut agreed breathlessly. Baze’s fingers were still stroking a bright line of pressure from his balls to rub over his hole and back again, and he could feel Chirrut’s cock making his stomach damp through his shirt. Baze’s heart was  _ pounding _ for him.

Chirrut was still talking, babbling really. “All the universe, all the beings in it and I was given you. I get to keep you for myself.”

Baze smiled, ruefully, “Yes. Thank goodness your Force brought us together.”

“No.”

The vehemence in Chirrut’s voice was startling, and Baze froze, his fingers halting in their ministrations. He looked up at Chirrut and saw his eyes, stubborn and beautiful, lamplight glittering across the blue sheen. They looked like ice set ablaze, like frozen comets burning trails across a nebula, like a city on fire behind a stolen ship.

“What?”

“The Force had nothing to do with it. It doesn’t wilfully control our lives the way you seem to resent. I am with you, I  _ married _ you, of my own accord. I chose you, Baze Malbus — ” He touched the hand not buried in Baze’s hair to his mouth. “I will always choose you. Gods, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. How you don’t know that by now is beyond me.”

Baze stared up at him, then yanked Chirrut down by his collar into a biting, sucking kiss, which burned white hot for a flash before sinking into something slow and familiar. Something learned from only having kissed one person for his entire life. Never before had Chirrut dismissed the Force’s will, not even after the Jedi were slaughtered. He always knew Baze needed to be reassured, that even though he had abandoned the Force, Chirrut had not abandoned him. Oh, he showed him so, with patience and touches and in waiting for Baze to come home to him, his deserter husband. It was something Baze would always regret, those long, wasted years apart, but he had never heard Chirrut talk this way in all these years, and it healed something inside of him that he didn’t know was still broken.

They came apart slowly, Chirrut’s lower lip caught between Baze’s teeth for a suspended moment, and leaned their foreheads together. Chirrut dropped a sweet kiss onto the bridge of his nose and smiled into his mouth, and they lay exchanging breath. In the stillness of the desert night a busker sang in the distance, a lilting alien song that reminded Baze of the monks calling the faithful to meditation. It was good to take time, he thought, for these things. Love, sex, making sure you still knew each other inside and out, should anything happen. When they had been younger, it was all about wanting each other so badly they could barely keep their hands to themselves. After they vowed themselves to one another, quietly clutching at what little stability they could find in the ruins of their temple, it was a new sort of intimacy, possessive and coloured by defiance, defence of their way of life. Now though, with Jedha all but overrun and collapsing further by the day, Baze wanted to savour what they still had together, against all odds.

Ever one to break the moment first, Chirrut sighed happily and wriggled in Baze’s lap. “I love it when you touch me there.”

Baze rolled his eyes, “No, really? Here?” He pressed hard against Chirrut’s taint again, his wrist nudging against Chirrut’s length and making him shudder. “You should have told me, all these years and I never knew.”

Chirrut was laughing, the sound bouncing around the soft stone walls, and Baze grinned. “It’s my favourite part of you to touch, too,” he continued conversationally. It was, in truth, it was a heady feeling to be allowed down there, almost a secret place, a private place. He had pressed kisses to every inch of Chirrut by now, spent hours and years learning just where to touch and  _ how _ , to make Chirrut melt.

“Hmm. I think mine has to be your ears,” said Chirrut, one hand feeling for a lobe to tug on, the other creeping further towards the heavy ridge of Baze’s cock. “They’re magnificent. You know how I love biting them.”

Baze flushed and swatted the hand away from his ear, then made an outraged sound when Chirrut pushed his fingers into his mouth. “Fine, well, I changed my mind. My favourite part of yours is — ah — your eyes,” he finished lamely, around his mouthful. He wasn’t very good at this, but in fairness he was more interested in working his tongue slowly down between Chirrut’s fingers. He released them with a loud noise, shining, dripping, that tightened Chirrut’s knees around his thick middle and grasped Chirrut’s wrist, kissing up over the chafed knuckles.

“Oh really?” Chirrut was still smiling crookedly down at him, teeth white against the dark gold of his skin, flushed blood-hot, but his free hand was nowhere near Baze’s cock anymore. Instead it was twisted in the blanket beneath them, gripping so hard the cords of muscle in his forearm were twitching. He was so beautiful, how could Baze ever hope to pick a favourite part? Chirrut was his favourite part of Chirrut.

“Yes. They remind me of the ocean. All cool, and… and blue.”

Baze hadn’t seen an ocean in person until he was 26 years old, flying over one in a freighter cockpit. It had been beautiful, and frightening in a way only appreciated by those who grew up in a desert. It had glittered iridescent like the great curved carapace of a planet sized beetle, islands of shimmering red jungles sprouting from its depths. Baze had looked at the ocean for the first time in his life, and all he could think about was Chirrut, Chirrut’s eyes, Chirrut’s face when he fought, Chirrut lightyears away and probably cursing his name. He had broken then, it had been so long, cried silently into his hands before swearing, and entered Jedha’s coordinates before guiding the stolen craft back up through the lower atmosphere. Some things, after all, were worth living for, rather than just surviving.

Chirrut, love of his life, was cackling at him again. “Blue! Excellent! Our favourite parts of each other are the ones that don’t work. That way you’re my eyes, and I can be your ears, seeing as you don’t listen to me.”

“All I  _ do _ is listen to you and your insane ideas, you never stop talking!” Baze cried, because honestly, after the day they’ve had, even after Chirrut’s moment of crisis he’s back to his regular self. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel like stepping out into the sun after the hardest winter. 

His protests were stifled by Chirrut’s hot mouth on his. “Who’s talking now?”, Chirrut whispered, and Baze gasped around the slick tongue stroking slow into his mouth, his stomach clenching in anticipation at the feel of hands rucking up his shirt hem. He never tired of this, the man he loved still desperate and aching for him. Chirrut was normally so nimble and deft when dealing with everyday things, he had sewn his old robes together more times than he could count in the last fifteen years, though it looked like they’d take more than a few patches after today. When they were worked up though, like this, when the need spilled over and they had to catch one another with hands and tongues and teeth, Chirrut was a fumbling teenager all over again.

Thick, syrupy waves of heat were pulsing through him, and Chirrut appeared to be shedding his composure by the second, grinding hard and moulding to Baze’s hips with helpless little noises. Baze slipped his hands under Chirrut’s linen shirt and squeezed at his sides hard enough to feel his ribs move, felt Chirrut’s heart speed up at his manhandling. He palmed down to grip at Chirrut’s strong thighs, slick with sweat already. Nothing in the galaxy had ever come close to the feel of Chirrut moving against him like he was starving for it. He wanted to tell him as much but his tongue felt stuck, his lips unwilling to do much more than kiss. 

“I need , Chirrut, I need you to—” he was already half gone and knew his leg wouldn’t take the strain of thrusting inside like he wanted to, but Chirrut never failed to make him  _ want. _

“I know, I know, shhh,” and Chirrut always got like this, couldn’t see Baze to gauge reactions but felt his way through Baze’s incoherence, how his hips rolled and mirrored the movements of his tongue, licking up against the warmth between their bodies. “I’m here.”

It seemed to Baze like Chirrut was shimmering in the light, maybe it was heatwaves rising from his blush, stained red from the roots of his hair and down his chest. Baze tried leaning up to taste, to kiss above Chirrut’s heart but his leg spiked with pain when he moved, and it knocked a grunt out of him. He flopped back into the pillow and settled for cupping Chirrut’s cock instead, thick and damp with precome. 

Chirrut’s hips bucked wildly against Baze’s stomach and he closed his eyes, grinding out a shaky “Don’t hurt yourself,” before collapsing onto Baze’s chest, legs spreading wider so they were groin to groin, nose to nose, careful not to put weight on Baze’s leg. 

“Don’t need to, you’re squashing me anyway,” Baze said, smiling wide against the hair at Chirrut’s temple, damp with sweat. Chirrut was heavy and dense with muscle, kept himself strong from training, and he was a perfect weight against him. Baze’s hand was trapped between their bellies, still wrapped around Chirrut, who was thrusting soft against him again, mindless, but he extracted it gently and held his fingers to Chirrut’s mouth.

“Chirrut—” he began, but long fingers held his wrist steady and Chirrut sucked without being asked, his own precome mixing with saliva, and Baze gulped. His beautiful husband, debauched and shining with sweat. “Ah, that’s—that’s enough.”

Chirrut drew off him with a hazy grin, and guided Baze’s hand back down between his cheeks, as if they hadn’t been doing this for literal decades. He shifted back, his spine curving at an angle that made Baze’s mouth go dry and let Baze push into him, slowly, so slowly, and it was just what they needed. Baze’s hair was a wild mess, half of it sticking to Chirrut’s face as they rocked together. Baze felt, more than heard, the shocked little noises Chirrut was making into his neck every time Baze reached a spot inside of him; not that Chirrut ever tried to be quiet during sex, but because Baze’s own pulse was thundering so loudly in his ears, mounting higher with every slide of Chirrut’s ridged abs against his cock.

Chirrut was saying something over and over between lingering kisses to Baze’s ear and for a single moment Baze faltered, not wanting to hear  _ I am one with the Force and the Force is with me  _ when he was so close to the edge, but he focused and heard Chirrut’s desperate, “Please, please, please, Baze—oh fuck—don’t ever leave me—”

_ “Never,”  _ Baze gasped, and Chirrut clenched around his fingers with a loud, wavering moan, coming between their stomachs for several long pulses, his hips shuddering against Baze’s. He was clenching his hand tight enough in Baze’s hair to make his scalp tingle, riding it out, and that combined with the slick glide of his cock through Chirrut’s release was more than enough. He was as silent as Chirrut was loud when he came, muffling any cry into Chirrut’s hair—he wanted Chirrut to be the only one to ever hear him like this. 

Jedha was a moon itself, and as such had no moon to light the night sky. They had instead the swirling vastness of NaJedha itself, the sun behind them reflecting its arcing rings, whorls of colour painting Jedha’s streets in the dark. It was this light that illuminated them, their lamp’s power cell long since dwindled. Neither of them made any move to wipe their bodies clean. Baze was exhausted and didn’t care, and Chirrut laughed, quiet and contented and pleased as he always was in the afterglow. He had told Baze once that he loved the feel of the warm wetness pooling between them, and Baze had flipped him over for another round.

“You lost so much blood, I really thought you weren’t going to make it. Your pulse was so faint,” he said, and Baze covered his eyes with a groan. An orgasm like that and Chirrut was still talking? Such was his lot in life.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he grunted, and the unspoken  _ not again _ hung between them, resolved for now. “Who else would listen to you harp on about the Force all day?”

“Oh, my lovely one,” said Chirrut, settling by his side with his ear pressed to Baze’s chest, and covering them both with a blanket. In the morning they would have to assess damage, reach out to their contacts still surviving, still clinging to their broken community, still in need of their Guardianship, and Chirrut would chide him for trying to walk so soon. For now though Baze closed his eyes, and covered Chirrut’s other ear, to block out the night sounds and let him sleep in peace. “You’re the one who guides me every day, the one I draw strength from, the one who fills up my life and my body. To me, you and the Force are one and the same.”


End file.
